Djinn Live Pretty Much Forever
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: In-progress. Nimrod's past, as relayed to his butler. Please read/review.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Children of the Lamp**_**. P.B. Kerr owns everything. **

**This is set between the first and second books. **

**DJINN LIVE PRETTY MUCH FOREVER**

Kensington Gardens was quiet. The park was deserted, abandoned, left behind like an empty crypt, pushed aside in favor of warm houses and crackling fireplaces. The roads were completely empty, stretching along in silence that remained unbroken. The statue of Peter Pan stood alone, arms stretched toward the sky, reaching for the second star to the right. Even he was silent, not speaking, merely fixing his eyes on the heavens, where the star that would lead him home sparkled and glimmered in the dark sky.

Inside Nimrod's pretty gabled house, things were just as still, but the air was different. It did not carry the peaceful desertedness that the park was filled with. The air in Nimrod's house was tense, joining the inhabitants with bated breath, waiting.

A soft rain began to fall, slapping against the pavement, pattering onto the metal Peter Pan, slipping down the windows, trickling into cracks and crevices, filling the quiet place with the sorrowful sound of rain.

_It was raining the night that Ayesha bore a set of twins: a girl and a boy..._

_ It was raining the night that, twelve years later, she left those same twins, taking ot the air on a swirling whirlwind..._

_ It was raining the night that Mr. Godwin, overcome with sorrow, killed himself, to be found by the butler the next morning..._

_ It was raining the night that Layla turned her back on her family, turning away her brother, never once looking back..._

Every time it rained, Nimrod would curl up in the window seat of his room and wait. He would wait for the bad news, for the heartbreaking explanations that he wouldn't understand, and he tried not to scream.

When his mother had left, saying that she had to become the Blue Djinn...

_"Why?"_

_ "You can't understand, Nimrod. It's...it's complicated. But trust me. It has to be done."_

_ "What did we do wrong, Mum? What did we do that made it where you don't want us?"_

She had never answered. Just picked up her suitcase and conjured a whirlwind. He had run outside after her...

_"Mother! Come back! I love you...don't leave..."_

She hadn't looked back.

Since that night, the window seat had become Nimrod's haven. That first night, and many nights afterwards, he had curled up there, crying, staring out the window, waiting for her to come back. She never had.

Layla hadn't either, after she had turned him away.

The only person who had ever, _ever_, come back down that road was Groanin.

And now he was going to walk away too. He had his last wish, and now he would walk away, never turning back, just like everybody else.

He couldn't help it. He began to cry: he cried for his mother, who hadn't loved him and Layla enough to stay; he cried for his father, who had loved his mother so much, but hadn't been willing to stay for his children; he cried for the twins, who he had seen for the first time in years, who hadn't even know him; he cried for his sister, who had locked herself away after the events following their mother's leaving, who had hated him for not understanding, who hadn't wanted to explain, who had married a mundane and then turned her back on him, all because he didn't have the courage to do the same; he cried for Groanin, who, through over ten painful years, had been the only solid thing, the only person who was always there, in the same place, at the same time, every day, forever. He cried for himself—something he hadn't done since Layla's distancing herself from him. That night he had thrown himself onto the window seat and cried like a little child. And after he was done, he swore that he would never cry again: he would never let anyone hurt him again.

"Sir, I've brought you some tea. I thought on a rainy night like this, it would be a welcome comfort. Nothing warms the heart like good British tea, I say, nothing warms the heart like it."

Nimrod started, turning around to look at Groanin. He squinted, having difficulty focusing without his glasses through his tear-filled eyes. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on his nose.

Groanin put the tray down and stood uncomfortably in the room. He rarely came into Nimrod's room—in fact, Nimrod didn't think he could think of a time when Groanin had. It was common knowledge that his room was _off-limits_, as he said.

"Sir, is everything all right?" Groanin asked, and Nimrod realized that the tea had been a ploy to get into the room. "I heard—thought I heard—a sound and I wondered if you might be needing some help."

"Everything's quite fine," Nimrod said, and he realized that he just should have kept quiet. His voice was thick with tears, and he was sure that his eyes and nose were as red as his clothes.

"By help meaning perhaps a little company, sir," Groanin clarified. "And maybe some friendly advice."

Nimrod laughed shakily. The butler held firmly to the fact that he was six months older than the djinn.

"Sir, I also wanted to speak to you. About...about what happened in Egypt."

He had meant to be so strong, so composed, and to just let the butler go.

But he had meant to be like that with his mother, when, a few weeks before her leaving, he had guessed that she was not going stay. And just like then, he failed, and, feeling like a petulant, injured child, he turned away, burying his face in a fluffy pillow, and cried until he thought that his heart would break.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Children of the Lamp**_**. P.B. Kerr owns everything. **

**This is set between the first and second books. **

**This is for Hanban915, who reviewed the first chapter and requested more. Thanks, Hanban, for your support!**

Outside, thunder roared, and the house shook. The lights flickered on and off before dying and the rain hammered at the windows like miniscule fists.

Nimrod looked up from the pillow, tears streaming down his face. He stared at the glass, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was distant.

"It was...it was raining the night my mother left..."

_...Thunder rattled the windows, and lightning raced across the sky, zigzagging up and down the dark canvas like a child's scribbles on a wall. The two children sitting on the floor shrieked with pleasure, clinging to each other dramatically, wailing fake tears, calling "Mother! Mother!" The little dog ran circles about the room, hackles up, barking manically, lunging at the windows in an attempt to reach the offending storm._

'_Mother' didn't come, and the children fell silent as the storm quieted momentarily, and returned to their game of djinnverso, laughing and arguing together. When the next clap of thunder sounded, it coincided with the boy's whoop of triumph as the girl conceded defeat. Leaping to his feet, he rushed from the room, calling for 'Mother', and the happy sound of his feet could be heard running up the stairs. The girl also left the room, though she exited with all the grace of an actress, and she walked slowly up the stairs, where loud voices could be heard._

"_Where you are going?" The boy's voice was bitter, burning, acidic, veiling the pain that was evident in his brown eyes. "Mother?"_

_The girl said nothing, but simply stood in the doorway, watching the proceedings. The only sign that she felt anything at all was the glimmer of tears in her doe-like eyes. _

"_You're going?" Soft and broken, the question was barely audible. _

"_Sweetheart—"_

"_Why? WHY?"The boy was crying desperately. He clenched his hands into fists and stepped away from his mother. His body was tense, prepared for a fight, and for a moment there was a glimpse of raw power in his small form. "Are we not good enough?"_

"_This is the only—"_

"_No." Once again the boy interrupted her, cutting in. "No, it's not. It's what you want."_

"_The office of Blue Djinn is very important."_

"_Why?"_

"_I can't explain. You can't understand, Nimrod. It's...it's complicated. But trust me. It has to be done." She lifted her suitcase from the bed and headed out of the door. The silent girl stepped aside, and her eyes were filled with anger. Her lovely nose wrinkled slightly, and she winced away from the hand that her mother reached towards her hair. A small shake of her head was the only indication she gave of what she thought of the woman._

_Down the stairs and through the hall the woman went, and from the top of the stairs came the boy's hurt voice._

_"What did we do wrong, Mum? What did we do that made it where you don't want us?" _

_And then the sound of footsteps rang through the house, and he flew down the stairs, clinging to his mother's arm as he ran up to her. Tears flowed freely, and his voice shook. _

_"Mother! Mum...don't do this. We'll be better, won't we, Layla?" He turned ever so slightly to look at the girl who still stood at the top of the stairs. She said nothing, and only scowled down at her brother, disgust for his pitiful actions obvious in her face._

_"Please, Mother! We love you. We don't want you to leave..."_

_The woman's eyes filled with tears, but she held them back, and merely pried the boy's hands from her arm._

_"Good-bye, Nimrod. Layla." Her voice was curt. And then she walked away, closing the door behind her as she vanished into the night. The rushing sound of a whirlwind being conjured filled the air. The boy sobbed and wrenched open the door, dashing out after his mother into the dark storm._

_"MOTHER!" _

_He stood alone in the rain, screaming. The girl turned away and disappeared into her room. The lock clicked after her, and everything was quiet, except for the muffled sound of the boy's cries._

_"MOTHER!" _

_They went unanswered..._

"...she never even said she loved us." Nimrod finished quietly. The tears, that had stopped briefly as he became wrapped up in his tale, fell again, and he began to tremble. He wrapped his arms about himself and pulled his knees up to his chest. "She just left. No _I love you_. No _this is hard for me too_. Just _you wouldn't understand_. And I don't." He gave a ragged gasp. "I don't understand. To this day, I don't understand why she left. I don't understand why she had to leave us."

"Perhaps, sir, she knew..." Groanin began, but Nimrod shook his head.

But Nimrod was speaking again, and the pain that had briefly colored his voice was gone, replaced once again by the terrible lack of emotion that sent shivers up Groanin's spine.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Children of the Lamp**_**. P.B. Kerr owns everything. **

**This is set between the first and second books. **

**For Hanban915 and Blackdalia666, both of whom kindly reviewed, requesting more. Thanks so much, you guys!**

_...With a burst as sudden as a gunshot, lightning streaked across the sky, sharp and bright, and the thunder rumbled continuously, never ceasing, deep and frightening. It sounded like the growling of some feral animal that, hungry, searches the dark night for helpless prey. _

_The windows shuddered, and the torrential rain could easily have been the chattering of teeth. _

_In her room, the quiet, disdainful girl who had looked with such disgust upon her leaving mother lay in her bed. She said not a word. She moved not a centimeter. No tears marred her deep brown eyes, or her porcelain cheeks. No sign of pain or emotion was evident in her beautiful face. It would seem that her mother's leaving meant nothing to her: perhaps it did mean just that. Nothing. _

_But it was not nothing to her twin, who, in his room down the hall, stroked the rough fur of the tiny dog, crying silently, tears streaming down his pale face, dripping onto the vibrant red sheets. For him, the whirlwind had done more than carry away the woman who had been mother, friend, protector, provider: it carried away the only life that he had ever known. To him, the empty space left by 'Mother' was a hole that could never be filled. _

_Another boom of thunder rattled the house. This time, a brief echo ran down the halls, sounding like the report of a gun. It was not repeated, and when the next wave of thunder rolled in, it sounded hollow._

_The girl turned over, staring harshly at the wall, and for a brief instant emotion flickered in her eyes. Loss and horror filled the brown depths, and for a moment those windows truly led to her soul. The empty room was the only witness._

_The boy, as another boom of thunder shook the panes of the windows, curled up in his bed in a fetal position, as if guarding himself. A stifled sob wrenched itself free, only to be smothered in the sheets and pillows. He stayed there, frozen, curled in upon himself, knees drawn up to his chin, arms clutching his legs to his chest. In his eyes too there was something: the look of one who knows that life is about to get worse._

_On and on the storm raged, and to the children, who did not sleep, it was the raging of their own souls, of their own hearts, as they struggled against the fate that awaited them._

_When morning came, it brought the butler to the library, with tear-stained cheeks and horror-stricken features. It brought one sentence, and that sentence brought with it a death sentence that, in pronouncing the few broken words that he spoke, the butler signed..._

...Nimrod swallowed, and took a deep breath.

"My father loved my mother very much, Groanin. He loved Layla and me too, I guess, though in the days following his suicide I began to doubt that. But I doubted a lot in those days. My mother's love; my father's love; my sister's love...everything..."

_...If not for the black clothing, the elderly djinn would not have known the stately girl to be the daughter of Plantagenet Godwin. She did not appear to care what happened at the O&Es of her father. She didn't answer the condolences of the many djinn that went to offer them, and she pushed away the outstretched hands of sympathy._

_The boy, on the other hand, could not have been more of an opposite. His dark clothes were rumpled, as was his brown hair, and his crooked nose was red from crying. His brown eyes bore a haunted expression, and the djinn could almost see the events of the past week replaying over and over in the mind of the young child._

_12...so young to be orphaned...abandoned...left alone..._

_So young to weep so much..._

_Stepping forward, he alerted the small dog._

_"Down, Tetris," the girl snapped, pushing the dog into a sitting position. She glared at the djinn, hostility clear in her eyes._

_The djinn directed his glance towards the boy, who looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. Seeing the pity in the djinn's eyes, he gave a strangled sob, and rushed into the djinn's proffered arms..._


End file.
